Flickering
by PhoenixFlame123
Summary: He doesn't even realize. But when he does, it's like his world has suddenly shattered - again. oneshot.


He doesn't even realize.

"Hey, Dean," he hears from behind the raised car hood, "Need any help up there?"

He peeks over the hood, face smeared with grease and dirt, shooting his younger brother a grin. "Yeah, right, Sammy. Like I'd let you touch my Baby."

There's a chuckle before Sam appears next to him, holding a beer in one hand and scratching his head with the other. "Yeah, I figured."

"Although if you want to get me that wrench over there, I'd be obliged."

Sam looks at the wrench before making a face. "Do it yourself."

"Oh, so we're acting like five-year-olds now?"

Sam laughs while he grabs the wrench, handing it over. "When have we not acted like five-year-olds?"

"Valid point." Dean fixes one last issue that's not really an issue at all. He stands back in satisfaction, dusting off his hands before slamming the hood shut. "Whaddaya say, Sammy?"

Sam looks at him with raised eyebrows. "About what?"

"Wanna go for a drive? She is running _gorgeously_ now. Not that she wasn't pretty before." He pats her hood fondly. "Let's go."

Sam grins. "Sounds good. I'll go tell Bobby so he doesn't think we're running away."

Dean laughs at that. "Right. Cause we have so many other places to go."

Sam's already at the door to Bobby's, swinging the door shut behind him. Dean grabs a rag, wiping the oil off his hands and face, and takes a swig of the beer that was put off to the side in favor of tinkering.

And he doesn't even realize.

"Ready to go?" he hears Sam calling, jogging over to the passenger's side.

He flashes his younger brother a crooked grin, swinging open the door to the driver's seat. "Let's get going!"

They're whistling down the highway, windows rolled down, going _way_ past the speed limit and not giving a care in the world. Dean has already made fun of the way Sam's hair is flowing majestically in the wind, Sam going with the joke and shaking it out like a mane. They both have huge grins plastered across their faces, the dying sun lighting their way through waving corn fields.

The Impala has never been working better, in Dean's opinion, and just the purring under his feet is enough to lift his spirits. And they're not worried about anything - no apocalypses, no Leviathans, no angel tablets or closing-of-hells.

It's just them and their car and everything is fantastic.

And Dean doesn't even realize.

They eventually stop in some small town nearby, grabbing food at a greasy burger joint nearby as the sun dips ever closer to the horizon. Sam actually gets a burger for once, something Dean is very proud of him for, and they set off at a slower cruise, enjoying good food (okay, as good as a small-town burger joint will get) and a cool breeze and the quiet of the world.

"Man," Sam mumbles through a mouthful of burger, "Cas would _love_ this."

Dean feels a little stab. "Yeah," he says quietly, wondering why the hell Sammy is bringing this up, "I guess he would."

Sam gives him a weird look. "So call him up, dude."

Dean returns the face. "What are you -"

"He's not so busy anymore. He can mojo his way down here," Sam continues, taking another bite.

And obviously Sam is tired or in shock or something like that.

Cause Cas is -

But Dean stops thinking for just a second, and he sends up that prayer he remembers so well -

_Hey, Cas, why don't you come down here?_

And there's a rustling of feathers and when Dean looks into the backseat, there's a pair of brilliantly blue eyes peering at him curiously, wondering why he's been summoned this time.

And that's when he realizes.

He clenches up his fists and feels his forehead hit the steering wheel as he turns the Impala to the side of the road, yanking the keys out of the ignition and letting the car come to a stop. Silence grips the car as Dean begins to shake.

"Dean," comes that _voice_, that voice that he thought he'd never - "Dean, why are you stopping?"

"What's wrong?" Sam is asking, so concerned - except that's _not -_

"This isn't real," Dean mutters into his hands, and of course it isn't, of course it's all been too good to be -

"Are you feeling ill?" comes _that voice,_ but - "Do you need medical assistance?"

Dean pushes open the door and gets out and he's _not_ looking at _him,_ he's not facing those eyes, and -

He hears two doors being opened behind him as he starts to walk away, one walking steadily while another picks up to catch up to him, Sam grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face them.

"Dean," he says, brow furrowed, "Dean, what the hell are you trying to pull? What do you mean, this isn't real?"

Dean isn't looking at Sam. He's looking at _him._ And _he's_ looking straight back at him, same blue eyes, same stupid trench coat, same confused expression and mussed hair and gravelly voice and it's _him,_ but -

"This isn't real," Dean repeats, shoulders shaking. "You are not real." He points a finger at _him,_ and suddenly he feels it all coming out - "_You_ cannot be real."

_He_ just looks at him, and he's taking a step towards him, saying "Dean, of course I am real, you are -"

"No," Dean mutters through gritted teeth. "You. Are. Not. Real." He stumbles backwards a little bit. "I - I saw you -"

Because he did a little more than _see him,_ Dean had done a little more than _watch_ his angel -

"I saw you die," he chokes out. "I watched you die, Cas."

He did a lot more than -

"I held you in my arms and you _died_, Castiel," he's shouting now, "and you _cannot_ be real because I _held you_ as you died -"

And now he's remembering -

Now he's _realizing - _

And he's remembering the demon, holding him down, holding the blade above his head -

He's remembering waiting for death -

He's remembering a stupid angel in a trench coat knocking the demon aside at the last minute -

Plunging the knife, the angel blade, into _his own heart_ _instead - _

And he remembers killing that demon, he remembered screaming as he did -

He remembers holding his angel in his arms as the blue light engulfed him, swallowing them both, and -

He remembers watching his angel die _for him_.

"I should have realized," Dean whispers, feeling his breath catch in his throat. He turns away, pushing a fist into his forehead desperately. "I should have realized this sooner."

"Dean," he hears from behind him, and it's Sammy -

Now he remembers more.

He remembers the months after it had happened.

The months of him plastering on a mask, pretending like he wasn't torn apart from watching his angel -

He remembers driving silently to next cases with Sam, wondering how ruined just each of them were, but never bringing it up for fear of breaking completely.

And now he remembers dying.

"I'm dead." It's a statement, a fact, more than anything. "This is heaven. I'm literally _in_ heaven."

There's a silence behind him. He turns. Sam and - and Cas - both have completely blank expressions. _Inhumanely _blank.

And Dean wonders if they've been programmed not to respond to him like this.

Because they aren't real.

They're just part of his heaven.

He sits on the cold autumn ground as the sun rolls even further into the horizon, painting the whole world orange. He closes his eyes and lets the colors seep under his eyelids.

He's dead.

He died.

He remembers vaguely saving Sam from something, some kind of frantic, tearful farewell on his brother's part -

But this time it's for real.

This time, he's not coming back.

He wonders if he can deal with that.

But he knows that Sam will be okay. Sam has always been okay without him. It's always been Dean who needs Sam, not the other way around.

And he has Sam. To a degree. He looks up at the still-frozen carbon copy of his brother, the exact same everything except it's not _him._

And he looks at Cas.

He looks at Castiel.

Angels who die don't go to heaven. They don't go anywhere. They're just _gone._ So this isn't Cas. It's not _his_ angel.

But...

It might be good enough.

Dean thinks for a while. His companions are still frozen solid.

Then he stands.

He looks at them.

He has tears in his eyes, and he smiles.

He is dead.

His angel is - is dead.

Sam is not here.

But this is the closest thing he has to anything. That he has to family.

And God help him if he won't run with it.

"Sorry, guys," his voice cracks through the silence, "I had some kind of... breakdown there. But I'm fine. What do you say we get back on the road?"

Immediately not-Sam is grinning and - and not-Castiel's shoulders are slumping in quiet relief that not-Dean is back to normal. And they're getting in the car. And they're driving away.

Dean still feels tears rolling down his face and he still feels a gaping hole where the real Sam and Castiel used to be.

But he has a paler shade of what he used to have.

And that's the closest to heaven that he'll ever be.

**-oOo-**

_thanks for reading._

_this was all written in under half an hour and I kind of just - posted it, so if there are errors, I apologize._

_follow me on tumblr for fandoms: becca-and-the-humans .tumblr .com (without spaces)_


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